


CHAOS

by oliveskinblackhair



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Alternate Universe - Normal Life, Baz is a literature student, Bisexual Simon, Drunk! Snowbaz, I am just throwing in all of my favorite tropes in here, Idiots in Love, M/M, Older Penny, Simon is a photographer, Slow Burn, TW: Panic Attacks, older Agatha
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-16
Updated: 2019-05-21
Packaged: 2019-10-08 19:40:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 12,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17392472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/oliveskinblackhair/pseuds/oliveskinblackhair
Summary: "Ah, Salisbury. I didn't know you had talents other than spilling coffee on people and ruining their day," he says, sneering and strides away from me.It was an accident!" I shout, but he just flips me off.When Simon and Baz, interns at Chaos Magazine are paired together to work on a cover story to secure a permanent job, things turn both strange and wonderful, just not in the way they expected it to be.





	1. Chapter 1

_"I'm sorry, Simon."_

"Give it to me!"

_"Stop it, stop hurting me!"_

 

I wake up with a start, shivering, panting, gasping for breath. The all too familiar feeling of an inferno burning in my chest weighs me down. I run a hand through my hair, slick with sweat, and I can't think clearly.

 _"Deep breaths, Simon."_ I hear the voice of Ebb in my head. 

_"Come on, do it with me. In and out. In and out. In and out..."_

I listen to her, matching my breathing with her words. In and out and in and out. 

The inferno reduces to a small fire. (It never dies down, I have come to realize. The fire is always there, always ready for destruction under the slightest of provocation.)

I check the time on my phone, and groan. 5:38 am. You would think I might be used to nightmares waking me up at ungodly hours, and I'd say you are right, that yes, it is all very frequent, but that does not make it any less exasperating. 

Well, if I am up early, I might as well make the most of it. It wouldn't hurt to look extra good for my first day. 

 

                                                                                                                        **********

 

It was a stroke of pure luck that I got an internship at Chaos, one of Europe's biggest lifestyle magazine. Okay, I guess it was a stroke of pure luck that Penelope-or Penny as she asked me to call her- took my interview. When you first meet her, you'd expect her to be extremely smart and fiery, which she is- but she is equally gentle and warm, which I like more about her.  The first 15 minutes of the interview were extremely painful. I am absolutely shite with words, and the fire in my chest was slowly growing wilder and wilder. I was struggling, must have said sorry a thousand times. 

Penny just placed a hand over mind, and softly said, "Hey, it is okay. Let's not say anything for some time, the both of us." 

I nodded quickly,  trying to will the fire down ( _in and out and in and out._ ) 

She smiled a small smile when I calmed out a bit, and said, "Simon, I want you to think of nothing except of what Photography means to you, yeah? I want you to tell me why you want to be a Photographer." 

Huh. What is Photography to me? I had never thought of this question before. There was the obvious answer of course, that words and I don't really get along and I get to express myself through Photography without saying anything, which is a blessing. But Photography is just not a way of expressing myself, it is the only way I know to just _be_. 

I was 11 when I lost everything and found Ebb, and an old camera was the only thing I had as a reminder of my past. I had nothing else to do and only one task at hand:not thinking, so I'd click pictures of everything under the sun without knowing what they looked like. One day Ebb saw me clicking a picture of a sour cherry scone and then got the film developed. Turned out they were actually good. Ebb got me a real, expensive camera and I got better at Photography, good enough to get into college and try to make a living out of it. 

Photography has been one of the only constants in my life, and I can't even imagine surviving without it.

I didn't realize I had been speaking, but Penny flashed me a brilliant smile and said, "Welcome to Chaos, Simon." 

 

                                                                                                                           *******

 

"Another nightmare?" My flatmate Dev asks me as I serve him a pancake. Dev and I met in High School, he is my best mate. When High School ended and he got into the same University as mine, we both decided to share a flat. The flat is close to the University and just 30 minutes from Ebb's bakery.

"Yeah, nothing to worry about though. Just the usual," I say, and he grimaces a little, but says nothing. 

"How do I look?" 

He looks over my outfit, and  I follow his eyes. I am wearing jeans and a bright orange hoodie (which Dev says "brings out my eyes"). It is certainly not much, but still it took me almost and hour to decide on this. Even Instagram couldn't help me figure out what attire spells out 'an intern at Chaos' without being too informal. 

"I suppose it is alright, Simon." 

"Really?"

"Yeah, anything is better than this fucking suit." he says making a face, and I grin. Dev is an Economics Major, and interning at his father's company. It is a a nightmare, according to him. "Go on, or you'll be late. Break a leg." 

"Thanks mate, I'll see you soon!" I wave at him and step out of our apartment. 

  

                                                                                                             **********

The Chaos Office is beautiful. 

Like a true millennial setting, the walls of the floor are exposed brick, and frames on it are the various covers of the magazine. The furniture looks like it has been brought from an antique shop, and there is no cubicle in sight, but in fact large, long tables where people are working, bent over each other's computers. Their is only one cabin in sight, which I guess belongs to Agatha Wellbelove, the CEO, and there is a board near it which says " _Do Me A Favor And Stop Asking Questions"_ I laugh to myself. I guess Ms. Wellbelove and I share a love for the Arctic Monkeys.

My eyes fall on the ceiling and it takes my breath away. The ceiling is covered with art, beautiful paintings drawn on it. There are children laughing and clouds floating and mountains behind whom a sun is rising, it is amazing.

I walk around, trying to take it all in, already feeling at home. My eyes are on the ceiling, looking at a particularly intricate painting of a meadow full of daisies when I crash into someone muscular. 

Before I can even begin to apologize, a posh voice cuts me off. 

"Déjà vu, Salisbury," the voice says, and I freeze. 

No. Dear God, please let it not be him. Anyone, anyone but him. 

 _But it is him_ , my brain supplies unhelpfully. I look up, and find myself staring into a pool of grey. Of course it is him. 

Baz Fucking Pitch.

He wearing a long overcoat with a dark sweater inside and jeans that fit him ridiculously well. His raven hair swept back and he is holding a coffee in his right hand (which I thankfully haven't spilled.)  For a second I wonder if he is a model here, which wouldn't be surprising, but then I remember Dev mentioning that Baz is a literature student. 

I don't know why I didn't anticipate this. Of course he got an internship at one of the best magazines in the world. He probably must have smirked throughout his interview while they gawked at his perfect grades. 

 

"Enough Salisbury. I am not the Queen," he says, snapping his fingers in front of my face. I guess I must've been staring.  
"What are you doing here?"

"I am an intern in the Photography Department," I say, gritting my teeth. I don't know why his mere presence makes me so angry. Makes me feel like I am not good enough, like I'll never be good enough.

"Ah, Salisbury. I didn't know you had talents other than spilling coffee on people and ruining their day," he says, sneering and strides away from me.

"It was an accident!" I shout, but he just flips me off.

What a wanker.

I guess it is going to be a one long month. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Truce?" I extend my hand.  
> He scoffs, and for a second I think he'd spit on my face and walk away, but then holds my hand firmly with his own.  
> "Truce."

To say that Baz _dislikes_ me would be the understatement of the fucking century. He loathes me with every inch of his body. And for what? Just because I spilled my coffee on him one day. It's been almost three years, and the git still can't let it go. 

Technically it is all Dev's fault. He should've told me that he was bringing his cousin back to our flat.

I was in the kitchen, finding something to eat. Coffee in hand, I was singing and dancing to Amy Winehouse. (I am terrible at both. Dev likes to say I have two left feet. Even Ebb agrees.) (But that doesn't stop me from doing it anyway.) 

  
_"Now won't you come on over_  
_Stop making a fool out of me_  
_Why don't you come on over Valerie?"_

I finish the chorus with a dramatic spin. And I came face to face with Basilton Pitch, the contents of my mug all over his shirt. For a very, very terrifying second, the world had seemed to stop. I was staring at Baz, Baz was staring at his now-ruined shirt. Dev, who had watched with a horrified expression on his face was staring at both us, eyes flitting back and forth.  
"What. The. Fuck." Baz seemed to regain his composure first. His voice was terrifyingly low; it sent shivers down my spine. He locked his eyes with mine, and even when I was shit scared of his voice I couldn't help but wonder how pretty his eyes were.  
"I-uh, I am so sorry, mate." I say, and I look at Dev helplessly. _Say something, you tosser!_  
"Sorry? You think a sorry would magically-" Baz begins but thankfully Dev finally intervenes.  
"Simon, mate, this is my cousin Baz Pitch. Baz, this is my friend Simon Salisbury," he says, and I roll my eyes. 

"We've met," Baz said dryly. "Now, enough with the pleasantries. I really doubt either of you imbeciles will have a shirt half as good as mine, so please excuse me. And Dev, your flat-and flatmate-is perfectly charming," he smirked, and walked out of the kitchen. 

******* 

I walked around the floor, trying to avoid Baz as much as possible. I actually end up making friends with an intern Trixie, who is also an intern in the Photography department. Trixie is quite interesting to talk to, her personality as bubbly as her pink hair in a pixie cut.  
Ha. Trixie with pixie hair.  
I tell her Trixie this, but she doesn't seem very amused. Guess I'm not the only one who made this joke. 

I was standing with Trixie, listening to her talk about her girlfriend when finally walks in Ms. Wellbelove, with Penny trailing behind. I wave at Penny, who flashes me a wicked smile.  
Ms. Wellbelove, at only 25, has set up Chaos without the support of anybody in the industry. You would expect her to be like Miranda Priestly, demanding, direct, and cutthroat, but she seems nothing like that, not yet. She smiles at all of us, and it's a warm, genuine smile.

Ms. Wellbelove is wearing a pink jumpsuit, her white blond hair tied up in a practical ponytail. She looks beautiful. 

"Hello everybody! I am Agatha, the CEO of Chaos and this is my friend Penelope Bunce, who is going to head the Intern Programme." Penny waves at all of us.  
"Before you begin your first day at Chaos, I wanted to come and meet you all. We at Chaos only work with the best, and I look forward to seeing you guys learn something from our team."  
"Now, there's something I would like to inform the 12 of you. At the end of this month, we are going to offer 4 of you a job here at Chaos!" Agatha pauses, and lets the words sink in.  
A job. A job at Chaos. This is incredible! I can't believe it.  
Apparently, so can't the others, as everybody starts to whisper excitedly amongst each other. Well, everybody except Baz, who just smirks and takes a sip of his coffee like he has already been offered a job.

"I'll let Penny take from here. See you around guys!"Agatha says and goes away.

"To ensure an equal opportunity, we have decided to divide you 12 into teams of two: A Writing intern and a Photography intern. You have to create a cover story on any subject of your choice in this one month. The two best will be offered a job, and the best amongst the two might be our cover story of the following month." Penny says.

Jesus Christ, this is fucking amazing. I grin at Penny, who smiles.

I just hope I am paired with someone brilliant, because honestly as good as I am at Photography, I am no good at thinking up stuff. I can't think of a good subject for the life of me. Who should I ask? Maybe Trixie knows someone... 

"The teams have already been decided based on your interviews and credentials. We have partnered all of you with the person who compliments your strengths and counters your weaknesses."  
I decide to ignore the increasing sense of fear pooling in my stomach. _It's okay, calm down._  
In and out and In and out.  
Penny begins to list off the names, and I close my eyes.  


_Trixie and Philippa..._  
_Rhys and Minty..._  
_Simon and Basilton._  


My eyes fly open, and I look across to Baz. He groans as he hears our names, muttering under his breath (swearing, probably.) And then he starts walking towards me.  
He is going to reject me, of course. But I won't give him the chance.  
He stops in front of me, hands in his pocket. (The coffee has been discarded.) But before he can open his mouth and reject me, I speak.  
"Okay I know you hate me and you can't work with me and everything, and I agree. I know Penny, so perhaps I can convince her to put us with other people."  
Baz seems a little taken aback, but quickly schools his face into a sneer. Honestly. Does her have any other expression? Just smirking, smirking and sneering. There's never any other expression on his face.  
"Don't be ridiculous, Salisbury," he spits. This is not fucking middle school where you'd go and complain to the teacher."  
"What are you suggesting?"  
"I am suggesting," he says slowly, like I am the thick one here, "that we together just till we have letters confirming our jobs in our pocket."  
"You are mental," I say. How the fuck can we work together? No, it is not possible.  
He rolls his eyes.  
"You want this job, don't you? Well, what would they think if you start to whine and crib like a four year old on your first fucking day?" He looks at me, like he can't believe I am being so thick.  
He's right, of course.  
"Yeah, okay." I say, running a hand through my unkempt curls. His eyes follow the movement.  
"Truce?" I extend my hand.  
He scoffs, and for a second I think he'd spit on my face and walk away, but then holds my hand firmly with his own.  
"Truce."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!  
> Listen to Valerie by Amy Winehouse [ here. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=d_EADBnXjXc)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Orphanages," I say quietly. "We can make a pretty good cover story about orphanages."

Baz and I agree to go down a cafe nearby to discuss, and we go to our respective departments.

The thought of doing something so... _regular _with Baz makes me feel all weird. I'm oddly nervous.__  
And excited.  
Nervous about being around in with coffee, and excited about working on the cover story. Yeah, I guess that's it.

The head photographer Niall Lee is absolutely brilliant. I have always admired his work, in fact he was among the few photographers whose work I wrote about at uni. He is a charming bloke in real life too, smiling happily while talking to us about photography. 

Soon, we all are running around the office floor running errands.  
The rest of the day passes in a blur. 

***** 

I don't know why I am so nervous. It's the coffee, I try to tell myself, but it doesn't feel right.  
I decide to do what I do best: not think about this. 

I check my watch again. Baz should've been here 15 minutes ago. I wonder if he is doing this on purpose; I wouldn't put it past him. 

"They made you leave early, eh Salisbury? I guess they must have found out what an absolute tragedy you are." 

I sigh. Speak of the devil.  
I turn around to face Baz, who is smirking. (What else do you expect?) 

"Bravo Baz, an insult well done. " I say, rolling my eyes. "Can we please go now? " 

He mutters an "after you" and we walk to the cafe in an awkward silence. 

(I desperately want to break this silence, but in the rare and unfortunate occasions I had to bear Baz's company, I've understood that trying to make small talk with Baz is like setting off a fucking chimera on yourself.) 

"Okay, Salisbury. What do you want?" he says as we reach the counter. 

"A black coffee, please. " I tell the guy behind the counter myself. 

Baz makes a disgusted face at me and proceeds to dictate the weirdest and hardest connotation  
I've ever heard. I collect our drinks, making an apologetic face to the barista who looks extremely flustered. 

"What is it? " I ask Baz as we sit down in the corner of the café.  
"Pumpkin Mocha Breve."  
"Never heard of it. "  
"Of course you wouldn't have. " 

I shake my head. How the fuck are we going to work together?  
Baz takes a sip of his drink, and I use this moment to look at him. His hair, which were swept back in the morning are now framing his face. It looks good on him. He smiles, (apparently the barista managed to make this weird drink satisfactorily) and well... it's something. Baz smiling without contempt or arrogance, but in fact genuinely is quite nice. He has a pretty smile, I realize. 

"So. " He begins and I snap back into reality.  
"Do you have any ideas? " 

__

********* 

Baz and I have been arguing for an hour.  
He doesn't agree to anything I say, and out if spite I don't agree to anything he says. Both if us are growing more irritated by the second. (Baz even more than usual. As, you know, he is always irritated by me.) 

"Royal Opera? "  
"Too common. " Okay I know it isn't, but he turned down my idea of bakeries quite rudely, the prat. 

"I give up. We are getting nowhere. You were right Salisbury, this isn't going to work. I don't know why the fuck did I stop you from going to Bunce," he says, burying his face in his hands. 

"Just shut up and let me think." I say, annoyed. 

___Think. Think._  
Something that gives Baz plenty to write about, something that gives me a perfect opportunity to capture photos.  
The idea comes so clearly that I am surprised I didn't think of it sooner. 

But is visiting the place that was home to the worst months of my life a good idea? It's quite masochistic, I think. But I don't think we'll ever get a better story than this. And those kids deserve to get their story told. 

"Orphanages, " I say quietly. "We can make a pretty good cover story about orphanages." 

I guess something in my tone makes him look up, and grey eyes meet mine, searching. I look back defiantly, willing myself to not betray any emotion. He doesn't need to know yet. Perhaps never. 

"It is not the worst idea, " he says slowly, like he'd take his words back any second.  
Well, too late. The damage has been done.  
I feel myself grin, like I've already been offered the job. I've finally impressed Basilton Pitch. (Why I wanted to impress him is beyond me.) 

"Oh, wipe that smug look off your face, " he snaps. "Now we need to decided how to go about it, alright?" 

We spend another hour looking up orphanages and making appointments. I feel my heart beat faster when he dials the Liverpool Children's home, but luckily Baz doesn't notice the tension on my face. 

"Give me your phone." he says, after we stand up to leave. 

"What? Why?' 

"My number, you idiot. How else are we going to communicate?" He sneers.  
There goes all of his civilness. I was quite enjoying it.

I begrudgingly hand him my phone, and he types in his number ("Someone has a little crush on Alex Turner," he commented on my home screen, raising an eyebrow. I shrugged in response, my cheeks burning red). 

I'll text you when we're meeting next, Salisbury. Please try and not die until then."  
Baz walks out of the cafe, and I go out soon, feeling both scared and happier than I have in a long time. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
>  
> 
> P.S I reread a few portions of Carry On and it turns out the last children's home Simon went to was in Liverpool, not Lancashire. The mistake has been corrected.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soon I register Baz walking into the playground, watching us from a distance. When I turn to look at him, he smiles.
> 
> He. Fucking. Smiles.

My first week at Chaos was good, I guess. 

At first, it was mostly running around, passing messages and bringing coffee, but soon I got to help with stuff. Assisting at photo shoots, editing the post shoot work. It is not much, but I had a lot of fun. 

Sometimes I'd run into Penny, who would ask me how's everything going.  
Sometimes I'd run into Baz (not literally, thankfully.) and he would sneer at me and then walk away. What an arse.  


The weekend rolls on quickly. Baz and I are going to visit a children's home in London today. 

_9 AM, Salisbury. A minute late and I leave without you,_ He texted. 

You can't, it is both of ours project, I texted back. 

_Believe me, Salisbury. I can do anything I want._

He's fucking impossible. 

 

I wait outside my building (10 minutes early), and a familiar feeling of nervousness creeps up in my body. I've never been alone with Baz for more than a couple of hours. How are we going to manage to spend a whole day without fighting? 

A Jaguar pulls up in front of me, startling me about my train of thought. A window is rolled down, and I see Baz on the driver's seat.  
"Come on, we haven't got a second to spare." 

I open the door and sit down beside Baz, taking a second to look at him.  
He is wearing those dark jeans again, the ones that fit amazingly well; a blue knitted cashmere and his grey eyes hidden behind a pair of sunglasses. He doesn't look at me, just starts the car and we drive off. 

We're both silent as he drives, but the silence doesn't seem uncomfortable anymore. It's like we've both gotten used to each other's presence in this one week. At least, I have.

Even if our conversations have mostly consisted of sneers, sarcastic comments and a couple of texts, I feel like I know Baz a little better. I mean, I know I hardly know him. He hasn't ever even called me by my first name. But sometimes I see him in the Chaos Office, staring intently into the screen of a laptop, looking extremely focused, chewing on the back of a pen. Sometimes I see him actually laughing at something someone in the office says. (I want to make him laugh again. It is such pleasant sound.)  
So Baz has become... more human, I think.

Now that I know he can be someone other than a pretentious arse, I am determined to bring that side of Baz again.

 

********

 

"Salisbury."

"Salisbury. Wake up."

"Simon. Wake up," A voice says, gently nudging my shoulder.

I open my eyes and see Baz looking at me. He isn't scowling or sneering, which is quite surprising. In fact, he looks amused.

"You mumble a lot in your sleep." 

Fuck. What the hell did I say? It certainly can't be something uninteresting, judging by the look on his face.

Before I can say anything, he says, "Get up. We've reached," and steps out of the car.

I mentally curse myself for falling asleep, and get out of the car, walking behind Baz.

Mary Dean's Home For Children was one of the better off children's homes, by the looks of it. The house looked warm and cozy from the outside at least, build from tan bricks and grey stone. I could see a playground in the back. Maybe this one will be better than the one I was in. 

Baz rings the bell, and the door is opened by a small woman, who looks like she is in her early 30s. Her brown hair tied in a ponytail, hazel eyes squinting in question.

"Good morning ma'am, I am Basilton Pitch and this is my collegue Simon." I wave my hand. (So lame. So eternely lame.) "We had an appointment...?"

"Ah, yes. yes. Come in. I am Jennifer." 

We walk in, and I catch up to Baz, grabbing his arm. He frowns.

"You talk to her, I am going to the playground to take a few photos."

He nods and yanks his hand away. 

I take the camera out of my satchel, and walk to the playground. There are quite a lot children there. Children of all ages, doing something or the other. There is a group of boys in ill-fitted clothes playing football, laughing. A small boy, about seven years of age is sitting on a swing, reading a book. A little girl, her brown skin shining in the sunlight is drawing into her sketchbook, a pair of tattered wings slung over her shoulders. And a few are just sitting, staring into the distance. 

"What are you doing?" 

I look down. A girl of about five years of age is pulling at the hem of my t-shirt. 

"I, uh, I am taking photos."

"Can you take my photo?" 

I grin. "Of course I can." 

 

********

 

I don't know how much time has passed.  
Soon after the other kids saw me clicking the little girl's photos (whose name is Anna, as she told me soon) all of them swamped in to get their photos clicked. These children looked cheerful and happy, and I was more than happy to oblige.  
They're all siting around me in a circle now, talking about school and future. 

Soon I register Baz walking into the playground, watching us from a distance. When I turn to look at him, he smiles. 

He. Fucking. Smiles. 

My heart is beating so fast, I am afraid even the children could hear it. I feel the fire in my body, burning every single thought in my mind.  
Baz smiled at me. 

I have to look away, so he doesn't see me blushing. I concentrate on the kids, listening to them chatter. 

When I sneak a glance at Baz, he is sitting beside the girl with the fairy wings, talking to her. He whispers something, and the girl starts laughing. Baz laughs too. 

He is smiling. And laughing. And at least one of them was directed at me.  
I feel like I am going to combust.

 

We soon leave, thanking Jennifer and the children. I promise to send the photos I clicked. 

The ride to my flat is mostly filled with a silence, just an occasional question here and there. I still can't stop thinking about Baz smiling and laughing, and what the sight of it did to me. It's just that he looked so... pretty. He looks so pretty when he laughs.  
_That's not only it,_ I think, but I refuse to think more about it. 

 

Baz pulls in front of my building, and I turn to look at him. 

"Baz. I have to go to Ebb's tomorrow, so we'll meet in the cafe on Monday, okay?"

"Ebb your girlfriend?" He looks annoyed. 

"What? No. Ebb's my... uh-"

"Spit it out, Salisbury."

Something in his tone really angers me. "Ebb adopted me when I was eleven. She's the only family I have. I go meet her every Sunday." 

He looks shocked, struggling to say anything. 

" 'S alright, you don't need to say anything. I'll see you on Monday." He nods, and I step out of the car. 

I walk away. 

 

*****

Dev and I are watching BoJack Horseman on Netflix, when my phone buzzes.

 _Salisbury. Say hello to Ebb on my behalf. I'll see you on Monday._

I smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "For the last time," I groan, "I don't like Baz!" 
> 
> Ebb just laughs.

"For the last time," I groan, "I don't like Baz!" 

Ebb just laughs. 

"Then why for the past, let's see-" she makes a big show of checking her watch- "almost an hour, you've been talking about him?" 

Blood rushes to my cheeks. Jesus. An hour?  
I don't dare look at Ebb, instead focusing on decorating the cake in front of me. Ebb says I don't really need to do that whenever I am here, but it's nice. I like decorating cakes. (And eating one of them afterwards.)

Ebb's Bakery is one of my favorite places in the world. It's warm, bright, and smells of cinnamon and vanilla. On the walls of the bakery are a lot of framed photographs. Photos of Ebb when she was young, with her brother and family. Photos of Ebb and me (Ebb and I, Baz would correct me if he were here) , photos I took. Lots of them. 

When I was younger, I used to come here a lot. Before school, after school. I'd even do my homework here. Don't get me wrong, I loved our flat. But there was- _is_ something wonderfully comforting about this place: People talking softly over a cup of coffee and a baked good, the strains of harmonica of _Love Me Do_ playing in the background. Ebb working in the back, humming along the music. 

It made me feel safe, made me feel home, something which I hadn't felt in a very, very long time. It still does.  


"Alright, I won't tease you anymore." Ebb's voice startles me out of my thoughts. She adds, a little quietly, "Nightmares still bothering you?" 

"A little less than usual," I answer truthfully. The nightmares are still there, but in the past couple of weeks they've just sort of toned down. I don't know. Maybe it is just because I am working my arse off every single day and I fall asleep as soon as my body hits the bed. Whatever it is, I am grateful. I can always use some uninterrupted sleep. 

Ebb grins at me, and I smile back. 

The thing about Ebb is, she never pushes you. She never asks me to use my words, content with a word in answer, or none at all.  
The first months I didn't speak a lot. It didn't bother her. She would just make make me sit beside her, and eat a scone or something. The silence never felt tense or awkward, just like a warm hug. 

Ebb begins humming again, the song now changed to _Help!_. She laughs suddenly, a juvenile, snorty laugh. 

"What?" I ask. 

"Nothing, it is just that whenever this song plays I can't help but remember Ringo sitting awkwardly behind the other three, holding an, an-" she starts laughing again, "- an umbrella!" 

I start laughing with her, and soon we're both laughing like crazy, tears forming in out eyes. 

It is good to be back home again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading! (And sorry for the delay. I know it is short, but the next chapter should make up for it.)  
> Listen to Love Me Do and Help! by The Beatles [ here ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CgKsCbvebf8) and [ here. ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Q_ZzBGPdqE)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> But it would've been easier if he was just _here,_ distracting me with his insults and running commentary about just how awful this train is.
> 
> I miss it.  
> I miss him.  
> 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions of bullying, descriptions of panic attack. 
> 
> Just scroll to the end for a quick summary if you choose not to read this chapter, which is totally okay!

Something is wrong with Baz. 

Of course, he stills sneers at me, arches an eyebrow and gives me the look that says "How can you be so fucking thick?"

But it just feels like he is avoiding me. 

Everyday we meet in the cafe after work, and he'd just take out his laptop, put on his earphones, tune out of the world. He wouldn't acknoweldge me, not even to make a snarky remark about my clumsiness or disastrous way of eating. He would just sit there, coolly taking a sip of his weird candy drink (I got it made once, for myself. Took a fucking long time to even remember the correct order.) (It is sickly sweet.) while I stare at him, trying to figure out what happened. He won't talk to me unless it is absolutely necessary. And more than half of the times he just ends up rolling his eyes and goes back to typing on his laptop. 

I guess it is just because the Baz I saw last week... the one that laughs, smiles is no longer here. This Baz is indifferent, ruthless and fucking untouchable. 

I am surprised my how much it hurts me. 

 

 

* * * 

 

 

The train ride to Liverpool is silent.

 

Baz and I sit on adjacent seats, and before I even have a chance say something to him, he puts on his earphones and closes his eyes.  
I can hear a beautiful, calm female voice, softly singing and decide not to say anything. What was I going to say anyway? I can't tell him that this was my care home. I don't need his sympathy. But it would've been easier if he was just _here,_ distracting me with his insults and running commentary about just how awful this train is. 

I miss it.  
I miss him.  


I rest my head against the window, closing my eyes. 

I didn't let myself think about Liverpool in these past two weeks. It was of no use, dwelling over it when you can't do anything about it. 

I let myself think now- when we're an hour away from Liverpool. 

All the memories from when I was eleven- good or bad, doesn't matter- engulf me, like they were being restraint until now. 

Mum looking beautiful on the videotape.  
Dad, no, _Davey._ Davey shouting.  
p>Fire all around me, all around the house.  
Going to the date home for the first time.  
Eating from plastic spoons and plates in the care home.  
Thumping-and being thumped by the other kids.  
Ebb.

A tear slides down my left cheek and I quickly wipe it, turning to look at Baz in case he saw me crying.  
Baz is fast asleep, his face bearing the softest expression I've seen on him. He looks peaceful, so... so beautiful. 

I silently take out the camera from my satchel and take a photo of him. 

 

 

* * * 

 

 

The Liverpool Home For Children looks exactly like it looked about ten years ago: old and withering. It is not very small, but hardly large enough to house dozens of children, some of them after each other's throat. Hardly large enough for a place to hide. 

The sight of it causes fire to burn inside me, one that is threatens to devour me. My cheeks feel red and splotchy, and that's never a good sign.

I am struggling to remember why I thought this was a good idea. 

"What the fuck happened to you?" 

"Huh?" 

The wind is in Baz's hair, and he tucks a strand of hair behind his ear, clearly annoyed. "I said," he says in a snarky tone, "what is wrong with you? You look worse than usual, which is saying something." 

I try to tamp down the anger coiling up my legs. I think I really might throttle him. Punch him right in the nose, or perhaps break his perfect teeth. 

Or I could just stay quite. 

I stay quite, and Baz looks at me, a hint of concern in his eyes. He opens his mouth to say something, but decideds against it, closing it again. We walk to the door in silence.

Baz knocks on the door, and when it opens, I freeze. 

It is Mrs. Hall, the matron when I was here. She looks the same, more or less: the same grey hair till her shoulders, brown eyes hidden behind a pair of glasses.An avalanche of memories hits me so violently that I almost stumble back. Her breaking up so many fights. Her telling me to control my anger afterwards. Her hugging me for the last time, before sending me off wih Ebb. 

She squints in confusion, her eyes flicking back and forth between me and Baz, and suddenly I know I have to get away from here as soon as I can.

"Good morning, I am Baz and this-" 

"I'll be outside," I say, and run away from them, ignoring Baz's shouts. 

The world is starting to blur around the edges; the world is heating up. There are voices in my head, so many different voices. Voices I hear in my nightmares everyday. I try to shut them up, but they only grow louder. The world is heating up, and I am afraid I'll set the world on fire. My feet moves on its own accord, and before I know it I am standing before my hideout for those six months: a small clearing between the trees in the back of the building. 

I feel like I am falling. Falling without falling.  
I get down on my knees, trying to stop. I cover my ears, but the voices keep growing stronger. 

Fire. There is fire all around me. I close my eyes, and all I see is red.

_Control your anger, boy._

  _Give it to me!_

  _Simon, my rosebud boy._

 

"Simon, just please open your eyes." 

I open my eyes, and there he is. 

Grey eyes levelled with my mine. 

Dark, calloused hands holding mine in their own. 

Baz. 

I don't know how he is here, how he found me. Is he even really here? 

I don't know how long he's been here, but he looks panicked. And scared. Two more emotions I have never seen on him. His grip on my hand tightens, and then he laces his fingers with mine. His face schools itself into one of steely resolution. 

"Everything will be alright, okay? Just breathe with me." his voice is calm, a contrast from his expression just a second ago. 

"In and out." 

_In and out._

I keep looking into Baz's eyes, gripping his hands like a vice. 

_In and out._

_In and out._

__

The world around me slowly starts to fall back into place, with him at its center. 

"Baz..." I whisper, and he gently wipes tears under my eye. I throw my arms around him, and he stiffens at first, but soon pulls me close. 

"It's alright now, see? Everything is alright," he says, running his hands up and down my back. 

I close my eyes and let him make everything go away. 

* * * 

"You should've told me." 

"What?" 

We are back in the train, and Baz still hasn't let go of my hand. The sensation of his now not-so-cold hands sends a fire flaming inside me, a fire I'm not used to. It is the soft, homely one that keeps you warm on cold days.

 

"You should have told me that you were in this care home, we would have never come here in the first place." 

(It turns out Mrs. Halls did recognise me. She told him my hiding place, and that is how he found me.  
"You were not opening your eyes, Salisbury. A second later I would've smacked you on the head." I couldn't help but laugh.) 

"I, it's just- ah-" I wince, expecting a Use your words, but it doesn't come. Baz just rubs his thumb in circle on my palm, as if telling me to take my time. 

I take a deep breath and speak. 

"The few months I was here, they were the worse of my life. Some of the other kids, they were, ah-" I run my free hand on the back of my neck- "cruel. I thought if I came here as someone else, someone better, I'd be able to put it all behind me, you know? Closure or something. I might be finally able to move on."

Baz says nothing, just silently takes out his earphones and hands me one. 

So I take it. I fall asleep to that beautiful female voice, holding Baz Pitch's hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shit escalated pretty quickly. Sorry. 
> 
> So basically Baz just ignores Simon for a week (of course he does) and then they go to Liverpool where Simon struggles with memories from the past.  
> He gets a panic attack, and Baz goes all soft and helps him. 
> 
> Listen to the song they were listening to [ here. ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Wq2jhs19_V8)
> 
> It is SUCH A Baz song. 
> 
> ( _Oh I hate you some, I hate you some, I love you some  
>  Oh I love you when I forget about me.   
> I wanna be strong I wanna laugh along  
> I wanna belong to the living. _)
> 
>  
> 
> Also people, please remember to save your fic after every single edit, because sometimes when you just change the tab to copy a link address, you'd find your edits have vanished and them you'll have to stay up till 2 AM to rewrite everything.  
> Just saying.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And this one is my favorite: Baz looking directly into the camera, hands folded in front of the table, a confident look on his face. Like he knows he is beautiful.

"I hate this fucking place." 

I look up from my laptop. Baz frowning at his coffee like it has personally offended him. His hair loosely frames his hair like it does this time of the day, when the hair gel wears off. It looks better this way anyways.

"Why?" 

"The awful music is too loud, the tables are too small and-" he says, eyes flicking behind me to the counter, "the barista was too enamored with you to even make my coffee properly." He shifts his gaze back to me, a small, mischievous smile playing on his lips. "Too bad you were oblivious to all her flirting."

"What? Of course not! I would've noticed if she was flirting with me!" I say, indignant. 

He smirks. "I wouldn't give you so much credit, Salisbury. She's been staring at this table for quite some time. I think she has a crush on you." He shakes his head, like it is impossible for someone to like me, which is a little bit true, really. I mean, it is not really impossible for someone to like me, but when Baz is here too, why would anybody pick me? He's smarter. Posher. Better looking. He's actually quite perfect.

I turn my head just a little, and sure enough, the girl behind the counter is staring at our table intently. She looks away when our eyes meet, blushing.  
The girl behind the counter is quite pretty. Short, curly hair. Her smooth black skin gleaming, a sharp contrast to her white blouse and green apron. She looks like Lupita Nyong'o with glasses.

I turn to face Baz. "She is cute," I tell him. 

"By all means then, ask her out and have the best date ever, Salisbury. But not now." He says, getting up from his chair and begins packing up his stuff. 

"Where are we going?"

"We're going to my flat," he says. 

"Why can't we go back to mine?" 

"I can't risk putting you in your natural habitat, Salisbury. Goodness knows you are clumsy enough already." 

I roll my eyes, trying to hide my smile. After I "went off", as they called it in the care home, I was worried Baz would begin to pity me, become careful, softer around me.  
It feels good to know that he is still as big an arse as he was before everything. 

I turn to look back at the girl, who hesitantly waves her hand. I wave back, and she smiles sweetly. 

"Jesus, Salisbury. Save some awkwardness for your first date," Baz says, rolling his eyes.

 

* * * 

 

Baz's flat is not at all how I expected it to be.

Well, it was impractical of me to expect something like a vampire's lair in the first place, but still. I thought his flat would be dark and mysterious, just like him. Walls all deep red and black, maybe a chandelier hanging from the ceiling. 

But his flat is quite... bright.

It actually looks like a West End gallery. It is big, white, covered in framed paintings. The furniture is minimalist and looks very, very expensive.  
Why the fuck did he bring me here? He would never let me live it down if I accidentally spill anything, anywhere. What is he plotting? 

Basilton Pitch might perhaps never cease to amaze me. 

There's a posh vinyl player on a small shelf in the corner, one of those old ones. Records are arranged neatly inside it. I flick through the albums, and there's every famous rock album in there that you could think of. Albums by Nirvana, Talking Heads, The Beatles, and to my delight, the first album by the Arctic Monkeys.  
There's a photo on the shelf too- Baz standing with a woman in her late 30s, with a streak of blond hair in her otherwise black hair, a wicked smile on her face. She is dressed in black too; a black leather jacket and skin tight jeans with Doc Martens.  
Baz has his arm around her, a soft smile on his lips. 

"That's my aunt, Fiona." Baz says, sighing. "She likes to think she is punk. This is her flat, actually."

"Where is she?"

"She works with the government, actually. She's not here most of the time." I nod. 

I take out _Whatever People Say I Am, That's What I'm Not_ from the shelf and hold it in front of him. 

"Can we play this?" I ask, grinning. 

"Absolutely not," he snaps, and snatches the album away from my hands. "There's only ten days left, Salisbury. Go sit down and do whatever the fuck you do with the photos."

"Fine, fine. You don't have to be such a prat about this," I mutter, and sit down on his couch. Baz rolls his eyes and sits down on an armchair near the fireplace in another corner.  
Once you get over the... _pristine-ness_ of it all, it feels quite homely. 

I take out my laptop from my backpack, and open the folder I have of the photos. 

There's another folder inside it, one named 'Vampire Sightings." (I like to think I am funny.)

It contains photos I took of Baz when he wasn't looking, and sometimes when he was. (There might be a couple of photos in here where he is flashing me the finger.) 

There's the one I took on the train, another where he is scowling at his laptop. There's one I took in the Chaos Office, when I caught him staring at the ceiling with an awestruck expression on his face. One when we were coming back from a care home, the sun setting behind us, his hair framing his face. 

And this one is my favorite: Baz looking directly into the camera, hands folded in front of the table, a confident look on his face. Like he knows he is beautiful. 

"Fucking hell, Salisbury. If you want a photo just ask." I may have been trying to click a photo of him without him noticing. We were in the cafe, working for more than an hour. I was getting restless and randomly started clicking photos of everything around me. 

I nodded, and he rolled his eyes. "Fine." 

And the result was this picture. He looked amazing, and I told him so too. He rolled his eyes again, saying "of course," but when he went back to writing there was a genuine fucking smile on his face, the one that sets me ablaze. 

I wonder what will happen after these ten days are over. Will he go back to hating me? Will we not remain friends? Are we even friends?  
These questions terrify me to no end, and I realize I don't want their answers. I could either let these questions ruin these ten days, or I could not think about this and get the fucking fullest I can out of this time, damn the consequences. 

Who knows if I'll ever get the opportunity to even be near him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So! Many! Dialogues!

"Oh My God, Salisbury. Can't you even send an email right?"

"I did send it, you twat. Just, refresh it or something." 

Baz rolls his eyes and makes a big show of hitting the refresh key. He's such a drama queen sometimes, I swear. 

"I got it," he says, but his voice is distant. Like his thoughts are somewhere else. "She looks beautiful." A pause. "You're good at this, Salisbury." 

My cheeks feel incredibly hot. "Thanks," I mumble, averting his gaze. 

The photo we chose for the cover is the one of the girl we met in the first children home, the one with tattered fairy wings slung over her shoulders, gazing upwards toward the camera. I was quite pleased with myself after I saw it, but I didn't really expect Baz to like it. 

"So," Baz begins, "you've made the spread, I assume?" I nod. "I've everything written, now we have the cover. Congratulations Salisbury, our work is finished." I nod again, still not meeting his eyes. Afraid that he would see the disappointment written across my face. 

I finally meet his eyes, and find him staring right back at me. 

"Please wear something appropriate on Monday, I don't want you to show up in a stupid graphic sweatshirt or something. Now would you please excuse me, I am going to get drunk." He gets up, dusts his jeans and makes his way into the kitchen. 

"Uh, Baz?" I shout. 

"What?"

"Dev is staying over at his girlfriend's and... um, I was wondering I could stay here for a while?" I don't really like being alone. I end up thinking a lot. About everything that happened and everything that could happen … I tend to stew on it.

Baz walks out of the kitchen, hand in the pockets of his jeans. He looks annoyed, and sighs dramatically. (Ever the drama queen.) 

"Fine. Go put a record on. And remember, no Arctic Monkeys." He goes back into the kitchen.

I walk to the shelf, flicking through the albums. Honestly, if he really hated Arctic Monkeys so much, why does he even owns music by them? He refuses to let me play them just to spite me, the prat.

I end up finding the debut album of another band I like. I grin. Baz is definitely not going to be pleased. 

"I am not even surprised," Baz drawls, walking in just as the opening strains of _Is This It_ begins to play. He has a bottle of expensive looking wine in one hand, and two large glasses in another. He sits on the floor in front of the couch, even though the room is full of comfortable things to sit on. I sit down next to him, and he hands me a glass. 

We don't say anything, just listen to the music. I don't mind it, I can stay in this moment forever. I fucking want to stay in this moment forever. I don't want this to end, I don't want Monday to come. Monday would mean the end of _this_ , whatever this is. Monday would mean entering the real world, it would mean wondering whether we're friends or not. Monday would mean uncertainity. I wonder if Baz feels the same way. If he also doesn't want these four weeks to end. No, scratch that. That's not really possible. I bet he's just happy to get rid of me. 

Several minutes pass, and I feel the alchohol slowly making its way into my head. I turn to look at Baz, and he's staring at the ceiling, taking small sips of his wine. I drain my own glass, suddenly annoyed. 

"Hi," I whisper. Why am I whispering?

Baz looks at me, his eyes flicking from my face to my empty glass. He giggles. 

"Are you drunk, Salisbury?" He says with a smile, not unlike the one he smiled back there at the children home long time ago.

"A little," I admit. He laughs softly. Jesus. I have never seen Baz look so free, being this careless with his laughs and smiles. He looks pretty like this. His red-gold skin gleaming, his grey eyes alive. It reminds me of that Arctic Monkeys lyric: _Makes me want to blow the candles out, just to see if you glow in the dark._

"So," I begin, refilling our glasses.

"So."

"Any girlfriends?" I wince as soon as these words leave my mouth. Fuck. 

Baz raises one eyebrow lazily. "Heteronormative much?" (Even while tipsy, Baz manages to use twice as eloquent words as me.) 

Oh. _Oh._

"Does that mean you're gay?" I say, even though I know what it means. I think I do. Jesus am I getting drunk. 

"Completely." 

"That doesn't answer my question though."

"No girlfriends." I groan, and he laughs. "No boyfriend either," he adds. Before I can say anything, he raises one long finger to his mouth. "Don't want to talk about it. What about you, Salisbury?"

"No boyfriends. Or girlfriends." Baz eyes me suspiciously. 

"You're not gay," he says. It's not a question, it's a statement. "What about that girl in the cafe then?" 

"Bi," I say, grinning. He rolls his eyes. 

We fall into silence. 

“Simon…” 

I turn my head so fast that I am afraid that I might get whiplashed. 

“What the fuck did you just call me?” I say a little too loudly, standing up. Baz looks alarmed. 

“I called you by your name?” 

“Yeah, but which part of it?” I am shouting, but I don’t really care. He fucking called me Simon. 

“Salisbury?” Baz looks at me like I've lost my mind.

“No! Wrong answer! You called me Simon! Oh My God, you called me Simon! This is a miracle!” I say, jumping up and down. I have no idea why this makes me so happy, but just that it really, really does.

Baz looks relieved. 

“Sit down, you numpty,” Baz says laughing, fear gone from his face. 

I plonk down beside him, still grinning. 

"You called me Simon."

"I did." 

"I can’t believe it."

"Would you prefer it if I called you Salisbury?"

"Nah, I like this better." Baz just shakes his head, muttering something. 

"What were you saying anyway?" I ask.

Baz looks away, running a hand through his hair. "I, ah. Leave it."

I've never seen Baz struggle for words before. 

"What is it?" I whisper. 

He turns to look at me now. "How.... _what happened?_ " He asks far too softly, and I know what he's talking about. 

I don't really like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello people, I am sorry for not updating. Exams, insecurities and self doubt got in the way. Thank you for your patience though <3
> 
>  
> 
> I hope you all are as excited about Wayword Son as I am! I am so stoked that Rainbow Rowell decided to shatter the Happily Ever After myth with this book. I just hope everything becomes alright in the end. 
> 
>  
> 
> Also Baz on the cover nearly killed me.


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Shhh," I say, bringing a finger to my lips. "I am trying to tell a story."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair amount of angst ahead. Fair amount of fluff too. 
> 
> PLUS parts of my favorite piece of fanfiction written by Cath from _Fangirl._

I consider telling Baz that I don't really want to talk about it. Or sneer his precious sneer and mutter "none of your business" viciously. 

Instead, I just take a big swig of wine directly from the bottle and sigh dramatically. " 'M too sober for this conversation," I say, my words slurring a bit. _Liar._ "Alright, Baz. You wanna know what happened? Then listen." 

"You don't have to-"

"Shhh," I say, bringing a finger to my lips. "I am trying to tell a story." Baz laughs a humourless laugh and looks away. I look away too, and we both are staring at the ceiling as if all the answers to the universe's biggest mysteries are written on it in big, bold letters.

I close my eyes, and begin. 

"My mum, she died in childbirth. My dad, Davy was... er, not a very good father." I risk looking at Baz, whose eyes are now fixed on me. He looks quite angry. 

"No, no! He didn't hit me or anything," I say quickly. "He just wasn't ever around, you know? He hardly spoke to me outside of "go wash the dishes," or "go do your homework."  
And he never talked about mum. He refused to tell me anything about her, not even her name." I look away before I can see pity settling in his eyes. 

"The summer I turned eleven, and I don't really remember how -maybe my father had asked me to clean a closet or something - but I found a box with a camera and a CD in it, right? And I had nothing important to do, so I just put the CD in and messed around with the camera. Turns out, the CD was a montage video of my mum while she was pregnant."

I close my eyes, and there she is. Blue eyes, blond curls, a huge smile on her face. She's laughing, smiling, making faces at the camera. Joking about my middle name, calling me her rosebud boy. She looks beautiful. 

I can hear Davy too, his voice so unlike the heavy and crushed one I was used to.

"Lucy Salisbury," he says from behind the camera, trying to keep the laughter out of his voice - "we're not naming our child Simon Snow." 

"Yes we are, David Mage!" She bellows, sticking out her tongue. I can hear him laughing this time. 

I wait for the sadness to wash over me, but all I feel is an overwhelming sense of emptiness. Coldness fills me like there is an iceberg right in the middle my chest instead of a heart. 

Baz silently takes my free hand in his. 

It feels nice. 

Fucking amazing, actually. 

"So I was sobbing in front of the tv when Davy walked in. He looked at the tv, at mum and immediately fell to his knees. I think he missed mum, too. "Give it to me," he whispered weakly, asking for the camera. But I didn't. He didn't push it. 

"We both sat there, crying, not daring to comfort each other. Davy kept saying "I'm sorry, I'm sorry." I don't know if he was apologizing to me or to mum. Suddenly there was a loud explosion near us, probably overloading or something. The wires caught fire and it started spreading. I quickly snap out of my daze, nudging Davy to get up but he didn't listen. I ran out of the house to our neighbors who called the fire department, but it was too late, I guess. Davy didn't come out."

Baz squeezes my hand, and I squeeze back. 

"My mother died in a fire, too." He says quietly after some time. "I was five."

I wait for him to continue, but he doesn't say anything. So I do what he did: I squeeze his hand. And he squeezes back. 

It's enough. 

Another three minutes pass with none of us saying anything, the weight of our confessions still hanging heavily in the air. I want to know what he's thinking about. Maybe he's thinking about his mother, or maybe something else entirely. 

I rub my thumb on his palm, and he quickly snatches his hand out of mine. Fuck. Did I cross a boundary? 

"Sorry," I say, not looking at him. 

"No, it's..." He trails off, standing up and walking into the kitchen. 

Oh God. He's probably freaked out and had to get away from me. Great fucking job, Simon. 

Baz returns with another bottle of wine in his hand. He sits down beside me, and before I can say anything, he silently slips his hand in mine. As if it never left. As if I were an idiot for ever doubting it belonged anywhere else. (I think I might be imagining the last part up.) 

We silently pass the bottle back and forth, glasses long forgotten. There's no coherent thought left inside my mind. I am thinking about staring at the ceiling. It's a nice ceiling. White, but not too white. Maybe off white. Is that even a- 

 

"I'm gonna shave my head."

What the fuck? 

For the second time today, I turn my head towards him with the speed of light. He is staring ahead resolutely, his face determined. 

"What the actual fuck, Baz. You can't shave your head. You'll look mental." 

"I look worse than mental with this hair. I look evil," he says. His hair frames his face, falling in a lazy wave on his forehead. He looks absolutely gorgeous.

"Yeah, no."

"It's like," he continues as if I hadn't ever spoken, "I went to the barber and asked for a Dracula."

Jesus Fucking Christ. 

I am laughing so hard, I nearly fell onto him. Baz shoves me up with his free hand, trying to keep a straight face. 

"Shut the fuck up," I manage to say. "your hair looks amazing, you git. You can't cut them. I refuse to give you permission to cut them."

Baz looks at me now, grey eyes boring into mine. "And who are you to give me permission, Salisbury?" he says, raising an eyebrow.

" 'M your friend," I say confidently. He laughs, and I feel a sudden ache in my chest. I resist the urge to wrap my arms around my chest. 

"Since when are we friends, Salisbury?"

"I don't know. But we're friends, don't you fucking dare deny it." I close my eyes, feeling exhausted. "Go to sleep, Baz."

I hear Baz whispering "good night, Simon" softly before I fall asleep. 

 

* * * 

 

I wake up with a crick in my neck. 

Baz is sprawled on my side, his hand still lazily holding mine. I carefully remove his hand, standing up quietly. My head throbs painfully. God, I'm never drinking wine again. 

I walk into the kitchen looking for water and check the time on my phone. 11:48 am. There are also two missed calls from Ebb. 

  
Fuck.

Ebb must be worried sick. I usually reach the bakery before the morning rush. I quickly message her that I'm on my way and get out of the kitchen. 

  
Baz is awake, and it looks like he's nursing a terrible headache. His hair stick up in every direction, his shirt is wrinkled and there's a frown on his face.  
He looks adorable.

"How much did we drink last night?" He asks, looking at me. 

"Enough to make you shave your head," I say. Baz groans and buries his face under his hands. 

"Uh, Baz?" 

"What." 

"Come to Ebb's with me."

Baz is silent for a moment. "Why would I want to do that?" He says, his voice muffled by his hands. 

"Come on. Ebb has a nice bakery and she makes the best coffee in the world. And I think you could really use it right now." He looks up from his hands and eyes me suspiciously. 

"Really, Salisbury. Why?" 

I think about it. Why am I inviting him to Ebb's? Well, he let me stay here last night. He let me get pissed and tell him to shut the fuck up. (I don't think he remembers our conversations though.) It's the least I could do for him in return.

And... I think we might be friends now. Isn't this what friends do for each other? Buy them coffee when they're hungover as shit? 

"You let me sleep here last night. The least I can do is buy you coffee and... er, brunch." Baz just scoffs. 

"Fine."

* * *

"Hey, Ebb. Sorry for being late," I say quickly, kissing her cheek. 

With the morning rush over, the bakery is only filled with a few people. _I'll Follow The Sun_ plays from the speaker, drowning the voices of the people. Ebb looks bright as always, her short blond hair tucked behind her ears and a happy smile on her face. She smells of flour and sugar. 

"It's alright, dear. Don't worry about it." She looks at me expectantly. I look back, confused. 

Baz clears his throat behind me.

"Oh right! Ebb, this Baz, my, um, friend. Baz, Ebb." Baz steps in front of me. 

"Baz Pitch, ma'am. It's a pleasure meeting you." One look at Baz and you'll never guess he's hungover. His hair is swept back as usual, his wrinkled shirt hidden behind an overcoat. 

Ebb clapses Baz's extended hand in both of hers, and I see Baz fight the urge to withdraw his hand. "So nice to finally meet you, Baz. Simon talks a lot about you." 

"I see," Baz drawls, and I can clearly imagine a smug look on his face. Thank God he can't see me blushing. 

Ebb and Baz end up talking endlessly, probably discussing their favorite The Beatles album or something. I slip behind the counter, making Baz coffee and something to eat. A part of me is oddly relieved that Ebb and Baz get along. A part of me is also wondering that it wouldn't be so bad getting used to this. 

Making Baz coffee in the bakery every Sunday morning, letting Ebb and him talk. Quietly slipping down beside him, giving him a quick kiss... 

The realization doesn't hit me abruptly, doesn't make me anxious or scared. I've known for quite some time, just refused to think about it. I guess I just wasn't ready, yet. 

I like him. 

I like him like this, laughing over something Ebb said. I like him right now, when he's raising an eyebrow at me, probably wondering why am I grinning like an idiot. 

I like him. A lot. 

And I can only hope he likes me too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> Listen to I'll Follow The Sun by The Beatles [ here. ](https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=28d_A_NuJ7A)


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, I still live. 
> 
> I'm not going to give any excuses, just that writing is hard and I am lazy. 
> 
> Hope you like it <3

I ring the bell of Baz's flat the fucking second my watch indicates it's 8 a.m, just to spite him. Honestly. What is up with him and this stupid punctuality thing? 

I have been having conversations with Baz in my head all morning long. Usually I confess to my feelings towards him, and he laughs and calls me a twat for even thinking that he could ever want me back. Or says something terriblt mean, like _"Why would I want you? Why would the thought ever occur to me? Dating my half-wit colleague who has probably fucked up my chances of getting a job because of his sheer incompetency? Now that's a plan."_

I rub my hands over my face and sigh. Focus, Simon.

"Baz!" I shout, knocking the door impatiently. "Come on, weren't you the one who-" 

The door finally opens, and I almost faint. 

Baz Pitch looks absolutely fucking fit in a suit. (Of course.) 

It's a black suit, all posh and sharp. It looks incredibly well tailored, fitting him at all the right places. Jesus. How is anybody going to focus on anything else but him? 

I put my hand on the door frame in a way I hope looks casual, but probably looks like me clutching it for balance. (Which is true. Obviously.) Baz just looks amused, the tosser. 

He makes me feel like a prize idiot in my own stupid grey suit. I don't own one, so I had to borrow one of Dev's. Dev and I, we're probably the same height, but apparently all the Pitches are lean and tall.  
I'm more broad-shouldered, so the suit jacket feels uncomfortably tight. I pull on the sleeves in frustration, avoiding Baz' eyes. Otherwise he might read all of my feelings on my face. (I wouldn't put it past him. He is infuriatingly smart.) 

"You were saying something?" He smirks. 

"I...I... forgot," I finish lamely. Ugh. I resist the urge to hide my face behind my hands. 

Baz only grins wider, and I want to wipe that grin off with my mouth. "You don't look so bad yourself, Salisbury. Shall we?"

 

* * * 

 

The car is silent, except for the constant _tap_ of my foot against the car seat. I can't help it, I'm so fucking anxious. 

Honestly, I don't even know what I am anxious about at this point. Baz, the presentation... it's all a heavy weight in the middle of my chest. My fingertips are buzzing, my head is swimming, and my stomach is on fire. I can feel the panic surround inside me, almost like smoke leaking out of me. I am about to go off. No no no, I can't go off. I just can't. Not again. I can't let Baz see me like that again, I-

"Simon?" 

Baz is looking at me with undisguised concern etched all over his face. 

"Simon? Are you okay?" 

"I- I am- It's just that-" 

Baz just takes one hand away from the steering wheel and smoothly puts it in mine. 

And then magic happens. 

I can feel the anxiety seep out of of my body, out of every fingertip and toe. My breathing becomes slower, and my shoulders slump in relief.  
Magic. 

"... and you don't even have to say a word, Salisbury. You just have to stand there and look pretty. Simon, are you even listening?" 

"Yeah," I say, grinning. And blushing. (Thank God his eyes are on the road.) 

I am so fucked, aren't I? 

 

****

 

The Chaos Office looks different today. Feels different. 

Every intern in knitted out in their best, either talking to their partners in hushed whispers or pacing up and down the hall. Baz ignores all them, just takes a sip of his candy drink ("I can't function without caffeine," Baz said. "This hardly has any caffeine." "Shut up.") and saunters off to his department. 

Trixie comes to talk to me, all smiles. We make polite conversation, but my heart is not in it. I just want to get this all over with and go back to the safety of my own flat, away from the source of my feelings and fear. Soon, Penny comes out of her office, her red hair now dyed a magnificent lilac. 

"Hello everyone, we'll be starting with the presentations now, starting with-" she checks the list in her hand- "Trixie and Philippa." I wave at Penny and she smiles warmly in my direction. 

I give Trixie a thumbs up, and sit down on the nearest chair. 

This is it.  
This is really happening. 

"Not again, Salisbury. I think you've had enough meltdowns in this one month to last a lifetime."

I roll my eyes at Baz, and he just smirks. 

The crowd around us thins. People come and go, all of them talking and laughing... soon we're the only ones left in the waiting room. 

I can't stop jiggling my leg, and I desperately want Baz to hold my hands but he's not even looking at me. He's too busy playing with his phone.

"Aren't you nervous?" I ask.

"No."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Yes you're nervous or yes you're not nervous?"

Baz smacks his head with his hand. "Oh my God. Shut up. Please."

"Baz?" I say after a moment of silence. 

"What now, Salisbury?" He doesn't even look up from his phone. Fuck him. 

"Will you just fucking look at me?" I growl. 

That gets his attention. He looks at me, giving me a look that says he's already bored of this conversation. It just makes me more mad.

"Will you stop acting like such a prat and act like you fucking _care_ for one moment? Or rather, don't. But don't you do this stupid shit where you hold my hand and make me feel so fucking safe one moment and then act like you can't even be bothered to look at me the next." 

Baz has the audacity to look indignant. "What are you-"

"I'm not finished," I grit out. I am on a rant, and I am not going to stop now.

"I'm done with this. I'm done with _you._ " The rage in my voice has died down, and I'm afraid I just sound sad and dejected. "I'm done thinking that you like me the way I like you or that you'll go back to hating me after all of this ends. I'm just done," I say, avoiding his eyes. I can't look at him, not now. 

I feel his hand, rough and calloused lift up my chin. 

"Simon, look at me."

I look at him and his stupidly perfect grey eyes. 

"What." 

"I don't hate you. In fact, I never did.

"

"You didn't?" I pretty sure I sound like Christmas has come early.

"No, you twit. I could never hate you." He says, smiling, and I _know._ I just _know._ I know why he gives me that small smile which nobody else in the world has access to. I know why he holds my hand and tells me to just breathe. I know why he lets me take idiotic photos of him and pretends to hate them. I know why he gets jealous of baristas and makes mean comments the rest of the day. 

God, I really want to kiss him right now. 

Baz's eyes widen, the corners of his mouth twitching. "You do?" 

Fuck. I must have said it out loud. "I mean, if-if you want to, if you dont-" Baz just laughs.

"You're _such_ an arse," I say. And I take him by the back of his neck and kiss him.

The kiss is short, because we are at our potential workplace and we don't want to get fired before we are even hired, but it is so fucking amazing. 

My fingertips are buzzing, my head is spinning, my stomach is on fire, because I'm kissing Baz. Fucking finally.

Baz's mouth is cold, just like his hand cupping my cheek. I let myself run my fingers in his hair, and they're just ask soft as I'd imagine them to be. Baz lets a content sigh slip out of his mouth, and I feel like I'm about to catch fire. 

We break away far too soon than I'd like, our breathing ragged and heavy. 

"Tell me that you want this," I say, pushing a rogue strand of hair behind his ear.

Baz rolls his eyes. "Jesus, Simon. Are you really asking me that? Of course I want this. I want _you._ " 

It takes me every inch of my resolve to not throw myself at him again. He stands up, offering me his hand. "Come on," he says, smiling. I don't think I can ever, ever get used to him smiling. 

* * *

I'd tell you how our presentation went, but I honestly don't remember much of it. I just remember grinning so much that my cheeks hurt and just remembering the feeling of Baz's lips on mine while he talked on and on. Oh, and Penny hugging me afterwards.

"Why didn't you say anything, Salisbury? Cat got your tongue?" Baz said after, giving me a sneery grin.

"No, gorgeous vampire boy did." 

Baz just laughed and leaned towards me as if to kiss me, but then placed his mouth near my ear instead. 

"Want to get out of here?" He whispered, his voice sending shivers down my spine. 

I did.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello again! 
> 
> Likes, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome :)


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